


quick thinking

by canniballistics



Category: Masquerada: Songs and Shadows (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Relationship, kissing as a disguise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:58:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9234149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniballistics/pseuds/canniballistics
Summary: A bit of quick thinking, in a tight spot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is undoubtedly the first of a bunch of marinspettore fics from me. feel free to blame [@losebetter](http://losebetter.tumblr.com) for injecting such a beautiful game into my life, and then go and reblog all of his amazing fanart of it!

It was not, he supposed, one of the strangest situations he'd ever been in. Surely there had been more instances, varied and colorful, over the last few years; the fact that he could only remember _some_ as little more than their consequences lent credence to that belief. Certainly, there were few things as odd as creeping around the sewers in disguise, with a Mariner in tow, but having ended up in the gutter on more than one occasion, Cicero couldn't help but feel that this couldn't rank too highly on that list. 

His companion was an odd sort; why he was so desperate to find his brother, despite not having spoken with him for years, was perhaps even stranger than their situation. Despite their differences in ideology, he and Cyrus had still spoken, and often. It only stopped when—

Hm. That was not a helpful train of thought. He shook his head to clear it, and very nearly walked straight into the Mariner's back. A large hand shot out to help steady him as he stumbled; Cicero took it by instinct, and rather than continuing to ruminate on his brother, found himself instead marvelling at the difference between their two hands. He had seen the proof of it when the ladder had broken beneath the man's bulk, and was reminded again whenever they stood shoulder to shoulder — _head_ to shoulder: Kalden Azrus was an absolute mountain of a man. Cicero couldn't stop his mind wandering, the quiet, dark parts wondering—

"Inspettore?" The voice was soft, but puzzled, snapping Cicero out of his thoughts and the strange turns they were taking. He looked up into dark eyes, which glanced back down to where their hands were still clasped. "Is everything alright?"

"Ages," Cicero muttered, drawing his hand back quickly. "I'm sorry, I was..distracted." He laughed, and was glad that it didn't sound nearly as forced as it was. "You're quite different from Razitof. I have to wonder just _what_ your parents fed you, growing up. Must've eaten all your spinach, and Razitof's share as well, hm?"

It was far from the response he thought he would get as the Mariner straightened up, his expression seeming to shutter as he turned away. "No," was all he said, before turning back to the mouth of the alley they occupied. 

Far from put out, Cicero instead felt...what? Curiosity, surely, at that reaction. Perhaps also a touch of regret? He hadn't thought to reach a sore spot so soon, and with what he'd _thought_ to be a harmless jest. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it just as quickly. Chances were high that anything he said to excuse himself would only exacerbate the issue; instead, he crept up next to the man, checking to make sure their way was clear. He let a hand settle on Kalden's bare forearm, blinking in surprise upon realizing there was a tattoo there. Interesting. He didn't really seem the type. _Hidden depths_ , Cicero had to remind himself. _People are not so simple as to be one-dimensional; everyone has hidden depths, and Kalden is no different._

Once he was sure he had his attention, Cicero offered a small smile. "I...apologize, for any misstep I might have made. It was not my intent to offend, in whatever way I did; I'll be sure to take more care with my words, in the future." And then, without waiting for a response, he darted out of the alley. "Come. The coast is clear, for now."

It was gratifying, then, that Kalden followed him without word or question. They made their way across what must surely have been a trading square, dodging between abandoned stalls and tables. Cicero hesitated for only a moment before swiping an apple from a forgotten bushel; he rubbed it against his borrowed sleeve before taking a bite, and only noticed after that Kalden was watching him, an eyebrow raised.

"What is it, Mariner?"

"You cannot be certain where that shirt has been," Kalden said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And I believe that may have been someone's produce to sell. Should an Inspettore really be stealing from the people?"

"Pah," Cicero dismissed the words with a wave of his hand. "The whole area's been all but abandoned! I'm merely saving this poor apple from a horrible fate, of rotting away and never fulfilling its potential as a food." He paused, thinking. "Though, you may have a point about the shirt."

It earned him a low chuckle, and Cicero had to look away quickly, busy himself with taking another large bite of apple. That was...an interesting sound. Fascinating, really, how it seemed to rumble deep in Kalden's broad chest before eventually tumbling from his lips. Cicero found himself wanting to hear it again.

They were working, however. This was neither the time, nor the place. Nor the borrowed outfits, despite how suited Kalden was to his. 

"Anyway," Cicero coughed, once he'd finished chewing. "I believe we'll be heading that way," and he gestured to a nearby street. "We should—"

He was interrupted by a clattering on the other side of the plaza, and the two of them darted around the closest corner. Cursing echoed after them, as well as unfamiliar voices.

"Would you _shut up_!"

"Sorry, sorry! Someone scattered some damn bottles, nearly twisted my ankle!"

"Well, maybe if you weren't so _clumsy_ —"

"Hey, who're _you_ calling clumsy?!"

"Will the _both_ of you shut up! Or did you forget we're looking for someone?!" The other two voices quieted immediately. "Alfons and Edvard didn't just _lose_ their clothes, someone had to have taken them. We have to find and stop whoever that is!"

"Right!" "Of course! Sorry!"

 _Damn_. It only made sense that they'd be found out; such a ruse couldn't possibly last. Cicero had hoped they'd had more time, however, and he glanced around as his mind raced. They were in a small, shaded alley, whose only outlet would deliver them straight into their pursuers' hands. That was not an option, not so quickly, but if he and Kalden were to stay put, they would surely be discovered. They needed to hide in plain sight, to have their stalkers turn their gazes of their own accord. His mind turned back to the five years he'd spent adrift, and of the fastest way he knew to disappear. 

" _Ages_. Mariner, this way." 

Cicero grabbed Kalden's arm, dragging him further into shadow. Far enough that the colors of their clothes were muddled by the darkness, hopefully indistinguishable between the Maskrunners' uniforms and a Contadani's day to day. The footsteps of their pursuers were getting louder; they must have left a trail, where they cleared debris from their path. Cicero looked up at Kalden, who was frowning toward the mouth of the alley.

"Should we not simply fight?" he muttered, before looking down at Cicero. "It sounds as though there are only the three; I'm sure—"

"Not without calling attention to the skirmish," Cicero interrupted. He winced as a basket went rolling past their alley. "And I'm afraid that is time we do not have to waste." They were getting closer. He needed to act, and quickly. He grabbed Kalden's hands, settling them on his waist, before hooking his own at the back of Kalden's neck. Tried very, very hard not to think about how thoroughly those large hands spanned his waist. "Forgive me," he murmured, before pulling him down for a kiss.

It was, admittedly, not the best plan. Hell, it was barely a plan at all. When he thought about all the various ways this could backfire, it very nearly made Cicero laugh; the Maskrunners would simply need to come into the alley, or Kalden could shove him away. He would be well within his right to, if he did, and so all Cicero could now was wait, and hope. Hope that the party seeking them would be so embarrassed by public affection so to turn away, hope that Kalden would trust him to let this work. 

And somewhere deep in his chest, hope that this did not completely unravel what thin ties they had been already begun weaving. 

Kalden froze against him nearly immediately. It was hardly unexpected. Cicero was well aware of how they would be treated if they were discovered, and a pang of guilt struck through him at how this might damage Kalden's reputation. His own was run so ragged and tarnished already that the thought of one more stain didn't bother him in the least; Kalden, however, was far from a disgraced exile. He might have a life, a family — the thought of upending whatever quiet life Kalden had made for himself twisted in Cicero's gut.

It was too late for regrets, however. Not a second later, a pair of shadows appeared at the end of the alley. Cicero could barely see them past Kalden's shoulder, found himself praying that their posing was convincing enough. The figures stood there for a moment, assessing — Cicero couldn't tell if they were watching the two of them, or if they were looking at something else — before thankfully, blessedly moving on. 

"Nothin' down there, Liv."

"Yeah, maybe they escaped into one of these buildings? That one's got a smashed window, they could've climbed in there!"

"Then what are you two waiting for? Go on!"

The figures at the end of the alley were joined by a third, and Cicero could hear a quiet, derisive " _don't they know what's going on right now?"_ before the three of them moved, past the alley and away. 

Cicero let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, sagging into Kalden and leaning his head against his shoulder as relief washed through him. They hadn't been found out, not yet; it was this thought that kept his arms around Kalden's shoulder, to keep up the appearance of intimacy between them. There was no way to tell whether or not their pursuers would come back, or if someone else was following after them. The safest thing to do was to keep up pretenses, for at least a moment longer.

"Cicero—" Kalden's voice was tense, a deep, low whisper against his ear that sent a shudder down Cicero's spine. Ages. Who allowed this? At least he was keeping his voice down, quiet enough that only Cicero could hear. "What are we doing?"

He laughed against Kalden's neck, almost giddy at the fact this new ruse had succeeded. "At the moment? Keeping up appearances, in case those three return." _Truly, I can't believe this worked,_ he thought, and bit his lip to keep from giving it voice. Best not to let Kalden know how unsure he'd been about all this, that he hadn't been remotely close to positive the deception would succeed.

Kalden only sighed deeply. "And before?"

Cicero watched for a moment more, before stepping back from Kalden. It was a strange shift, nearly unbalancing him; he hadn't realized he'd been standing on the tips of his toes to make himself tall enough. "I learned...a while ago, that most people are not fans of public displays of affection. To see a loving couple doting, or embracing — most turn their eyes away, so as not to stare. It makes people uncomfortable, so they unconsciously stop themselves from seeing it." 

"And you figured that _this_ would protect our anonymity?" There was a strange quality to Kalden's voice, something that Cicero couldn't quite place. "What if we had been discovered?"

His hands had curled into fists, Cicero realized. He took a deep breath. "Then we would have summarily dispatched them, and whatever reputation you may have here in the Citte would be safe." Cicero chewed at the inside of his lip, just for a second, before looking at him. "I _am_ sorry. It was the quickest way I could think of to keep their eyes off of us. And if things had taken a turn for the worse, I assure you, the blame would fall squarely on my own shoulders. I would not allow it any other way."

Kalden was quiet for a moment, watching him. His hands, at least, had unfurled as he'd been speaking. "You are an… _interesting_ man, Cicero."

A quiet chuckle, and Cicero nodded. "Thank you. It's far from the worst I've been called, and you would be well within your right to call me worse; I'll gratefully accept _interesting_ , from you." 

He turned then, creeping up to the mouth of the alley and peering around the corner. There was no sign of the people who had been chasing them, having apparently climbed into one of the buildings adjacent to theirs and kept moving. It was a stroke of luck, and not one that he intended to waste. 

"Let's go, Mariner," he murmured, gesturing back at him. "We've got work to do, after all."

Again, Cicero found himself surprised when Kalden followed after him. Surprised, but also relieved. No doubt the man wanted to find his brother, and that was the reason; still, it was something of a comfort to know he hadn't yet cost himself an ally. Whether or not the partnership would last remained to be seen.

For now, it was enough. They had a job to do, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE COME YELL WITH ME ABOUT THIS FANDOM I WANT TO YELL SO MUCH ABOUT IT over at my [main blog](http://ravennkings.tumblr.com) or my [fic blog](http://canniballistics.tumblr.com)!!


End file.
